“Everything, as far as I can remember, England, Ashbridge, armies, navies, music. Hermann says he cast pearls before swine--” “And his tone, his attitude?” she asked. “Towards us?--towards England? Immensely friendly, and most inquisitive. I was never asked so many questions in so short a time.” Aunt Barbara suddenly turned to Falbe. “And you?” she asked. “Were you with Michael?” “No, Lady Barbara. I had no pearls.” “And are you naturalised English?” she asked. “No; I am German.” She slid swiftly off the topic. “Do you wonder I ask, with your talking English so perfectly?” she said. “You should hear me talking French when we are entertaining Ambassadors and that sort of persons. I talk it so fast that nobody can understand a word I say. That is a defensive measure, you must observe, because even if I talked it quite slowly they would understand just as little. But they think it is the pace that stupefies them, and they leave me in a curious, dazed condition. And now Miss Falbe and I are going to leave you two. Be rather a long time, dear Michael, so that Mr. Falbe can tell you what he thinks of me, and his sister shall tell me what she thinks of you. Afterwards you and I will tell each other, if it is not too fearful.” This did not express quite accurately Lady Barbara’s intentions, for she chiefly wanted to find out what she thought of Sylvia. “And you are great friends, you three?” she said as they settled themselves for the prolonged absence of the two men. Sylvia smiled; she smiled, Aunt Barbara noticed, almost entirely with her eyes, using her mouth only when it came to laughing; but her eyes smiled quite charmingly. “That’s always rather a rash thing to pronounce on,” she said. “I can tell you for certain that Hermann and I are both very fond of him, but it is presumptuous for us to say that he is equally devoted to us.” “My dear, there is no call for modesty about it,” said Barbara. “Between you--for I imagine it is you who have done it--between you you have made a perfectly different creature of the boy. You’ve made him flower.” Sylvia became quite grave. “Oh, I do hope he likes us,” she said. “He is so likable himself.” Barbara nodded “And you’ve had the good sense to find that out,” she said. “It’s astonishing how few people knew it. But then, as I said, Michael hadn’t flowered. No one understood him, or was interested. Then he suddenly made up his mind last summer what he wanted to do and be, and immediately did and was it.” “I think he told Hermann,” said she. “His father didn’t approve, did he?” “Approve? My dear, if you knew my brother you would know that the only things he approves of are those which Michael isn’t.” Sylvia spread her fine hands out to the blaze, warming them and shading her face. “Michael always seems to us--” she began. “Ah, I called him Michael by mistake.” “Then do it on purpose next time,” remarked Barbara. “What does Michael seem?”